


That Stupid Claw

by jovishark



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, South Park
Genre: Alcohol, Anthropomorphic Characters, Blood and Gore, Fire, Gen, Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 19:19:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4678331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jovishark/pseuds/jovishark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s a stupid, pointless, dangerous treasure hunt that might get us all killed! Remember our last trip through a crypt?” He reminds them, and Stan’s eyes sink guiltily down to the floor again. “You both could have died! We can’t risk ourselves for some dull ancient sword, or some chest of useless shit!”<br/>“We don’t have to,” Kenny exhales. “But I want to. I found the claw, I can ask around where the door is, and I can find that chest of useless shit by myself.”</p><p>the boys find one of those crystal claws. it rips them apart and stitches them back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Knives and Claws

That night was fairly quiet for the group, compared to others previous. They’ve arranged themselves comfortably around a flickering fire, faces lit with the warm light cast from the flames. Butters and Kenny are beside each other, working hard at the stew that would be served some time later. Kenny prepares meat while Butters chops vegetables, and they throw their respective food items into the decently sized iron pot in front of them, sitting above the fire on a rack they’d acquired from a bandit raid. Normally, Clyde would work with Butters on any meal made for the group - but his inexperience with food and overall clumsiness were just a few of the reasons named that required Kenny to take over. Sure, it was a little unpleasant to find strands of yellow hair in their soup, or shed scales in the stew, but any of that was better than having an entire pot of boiling water dumped on you by “accident”. Kyle has still kept his vow to never forgive Clyde on that one.

Now, instead of making edible things inedible, Clyde sits west of the fire and strums idly on his lute. It is, perhaps, the one thing he is good at. Singing, not at all. Lyrics, don’t even ask. But the strings beckon, the rhythms call out, and he had never been able to resist the fine charm of the instrument itself. And neither had the various women he met in inns all across his travels. If he didn’t try to lure them in with words or poetry and instead relied on the power of the lute, he did just fine.

And Kyle himself, nose buried in a spellbook like always, sits across from his anthropomorphic friends and focuses on a new spell. Well, not new, but not as experienced as he’d like to be. He practices casting it briefly, balancing the raw energy of a healing spell in his hand before letting it fade into the night air. Bands of pale yellow slip down his arm for a few seconds, glittering in the dark, and someone else observes with fascination. Kyle notices from the corner of his eye, and watches Stan from his right side cock his head in interest at the magic dissipating from its source.

“That’s so cool,” Stan breathes, and his curious gaze flicks back to meet Kyle’s. “Can you teach me?”

“No.” Kyle gives him a shake of the head and turns back to the spellbook, while Stan sips forlornly from his bottle of ale. It’s either his second or third that night, he’s lost track.

Far, far from the group, Craig shakes his head. He’s perched on a large rock a few feet between Kyle and Kenny, and more than a few feet away. From there, undisturbed, Craig takes inventory on the knives and sharp objects he keeps hidden in his tight, tight leather armor. So far, he’s discovered three daggers (including the one visible in its sheath on his left thigh), nine throwing knives (as opposed to the usual ten - he must have forgotten to retrieve one of them), and three throwing stars. They were spread upon the grass and organized almost meticulously by size, efficiency, and fatality rate. Craig was more experienced with daggers than he was projectiles, and therefore had an easier time slicing or slitting things, but the throwing knives were better from a distance and he was moderately accurate with them. And, the throwing stars just look cooler.

With each weapon accounted for (minus the one that was lost, but could easily be replaced), Craig gathered some supplies and set out to clean them. A tattered, messy cloth he carried normally did the trick, to either mop up wet blood or scrape off the dried stuff. He was used to cleaning his weapons this way, quick and dirty, as a messy blade didn’t necessarily fly well and should at least be taken care of in a sense, to avoid rust. They hadn’t all been used in the last battle, but they hadn’t all been cleaned, either. Craig was left with a fair amount of work, and mentally kicks himself for not taking care of this earlier.

“Dinner’s almost ready, fellas!” Butters announces jauntily from where he stirs the pot, rearranging chunks of meat and vegetables from where they sit in the broth. Kenny rubs his claws together, and sweeps his forked tongue over his lips.

“Boy, I can’t wait for this one, Buttercup. I’m starvin’.” He places an appreciative kiss to the side of Butters’ cheek, and watches the pot of stew intently. Butters giggles lightly, and wordlessly continues his work.

“Yeah, it smells really awesome over here.” Clyde sets his lute down on the grass behind the log he sits on, and watches the two of them gather bowls and utensils.

“At least it doesn’t smell burnt,” Kyle pipes up, snapping his spellbook shut and giving Clyde a pointed look. Clyde shrinks back where he sits, averting his eyes.

“Dude, relax.” Stan tosses back the remainder of his ale and pats Kyle’s shoulder. “He tried his best.”

“To dump boiling water on me? Yeah, that sounds about right.” Kyle says, and Clyde can’t tell how much he’s joking anymore. Kenny and Butters have begun to dish up.

The other three group in toward the fire to take their own bowls, but Craig remains where he is. He scrubs at one of his knives, working off something that he’s not sure is blood. It could possibly have been that dark, slimy substance that comes out of draugrs on occasion, but they haven’t gone into any crypts recently… had it really been that long since he cleaned his knives?

“Craig,” Butters calls to him, albeit hesitantly. “Come on over here and eat, ya big silly!”

Craig responds with a grunt, and continues with his knives, not moving. Butters shakes his head and shrugs helplessly at Kenny. If Craig doesn’t want to do something, then it’s pretty much guaranteed he won’t do it.

“I’ve got it.” Stan sets down his own bowl, dishes up a second, and takes them both away from the fire. He approaches Craig slowly, and decides to come up from the side rather than the back. They’ve all learned this lesson multiple times; Do not sneak up on a trained assassin with a knife in his hand.

Stan takes this into consideration and clears his throat before getting too close. Craig jolts still, whips around to give Stan a threatening stare, wielding his dirty cloth instead of the throwing knife in his other hand. Stan stops, holding both bowls cautiously.

“What.” Craig exhales, and turns back around. Stan isn’t sure if he should continue. The lingering odor of rotting meat clashes with the wafting smell of stew in his hands.

“I, uh. I got you food.” He tries, and holds out one of the bowls to Craig. It isn’t as full as the one in his other hand. Stan knows Craig hardly ever eats, and when he does, it isn’t much. He also hardly ever sleeps, nor allows anyone to walk behind him. They all just chalk it up to it being a ‘Brotherhood thing’, and leave it at that.

“So?” Craig still doesn’t look at Stan. He sets down the decently cleaned throwing knife and picks up another.

“So, that means you take it.” He holds the bowl out closer to Craig, patience running thin.

Craig hums contemplatively for a few seconds, focusing on the task at hand. “Nah,” He decides, scrubbing dry blood from the third blade. Stan rolls his eyes.

“Alright, fine. But it’s here if you want it.” He gives up, sets the bowl down on the ground beside the boulder Craig sits on, and walks away. Craig regards the stew with mild interest, and decides to go back to his knives.

Back at the fire, Stan resumes his spot beside Kyle, who eats slowly and carefully while he reads. He’s always very attentive to not making any messes, and Stan can appreciate that, being nothing like it. He digs into his own food, very much like Clyde beside him, and swallows fairly quickly. From his left, Kyle gives him an odd, sidelong glance.

“Stan,” he says. “Please chew your food. I would hate to have to inform your next of kin that you choked to death.”

Stan raises an eyebrow but says nothing, going back to his stew with a more self conscious edge to the way he ate. Clyde, however, continues to shovel food and chew almost ravenously, and Kenny and Butters take turns spooning stew into each other’s mouths and giggling. It would almost be nauseating, if it wasn’t so damn cute.

“Is Craig still being difficult?” Kyle turns to Stan and asks, his voice lowered for obvious reasons. He doesn’t mind being nosey, just as long as Craig and his hawk-ears don’t pick anything up. Stan thinks for a minute, and swallows.

“Yeah. I don’t think he’s eaten all day. I’m getting kind of concerned,” he says, and sets down his own empty bowl. “I mean, if he doesn’t eat or sleep ever, how is he supposed to defend himself? That can’t be good for you.”

“I don’t know if he exactly cares.” Kyle remarks, snidely, and glances over at Craig. He’s still turned away from the group, now rearranging the weapons back into their various places in his armor. He can, of course, still hear them, and listens intently.

“Yeah, I noticed.” Stan rolls his eyes again. “At least he’s not trying to stab us anymore.”

“Amazing.” Kyle resumes eating his own food, and Stan continues to watch Craig from where he sits. He is oddly concerned, and tempted to say something, but ultimately decides against it. Craig is a grown man (despite some of his behavior - he’s more like a homicidal toddler), and he can make his own choices. Even if Stan tried to do something about it, he would be met with resistance anyway, so he decides not to bother.

When the five of them finish eating, they gather the bowls and Kenny mops them out with a relatively clean rag, and he and Butters replace everything back to where it was. The sun had fully set by then, and the fire seemed to glow brighter, leaving a drowsy film over the group. Stan insisted they leave the stew he had brought over by Craig, even though it had probably gone cold, just in case he was inclined to eat any of it. Kenny shrugged and agreed, though he reminded Stan he wouldn’t be the one fighting off any wolves that were more interested in it than Craig was.

While the torchbugs came out and luna moths danced in the grass, Clyde plucks with practiced ease at his lute. The music and melodies spread evenly in the area, along with the crackling of the fire and the occasional turning of pages that Kyle provides. Butters sits with his legs crossed by the fire, with Kenny’s head resting in his lap, as Butters strokes the thick hair on his head and the scales on his cheeks. Stan flits between watching Kyle practice casting spells and observing Craig from a distance, especially keeping an eye on the latter. Craig has hardly moved since dinner, and Stan’s concern grows deeper with each passing minute.

“Oh, hey!” Kenny sits up suddenly, interrupting Stan’s train of thought. Clyde stops playing his lute and looks up. “You guys wanna see something really cool?”

“Based on the last time you asked that,” Kyle peers up from his book, cautiously. “I’m going to go with no. No, I don’t.”

“I wanna see it,” Clyde leans in closer, as Kenny reaches for the bag he and Butters share.

“Yeah, what’d you find?” Stan cocks his head. Knowing Kenny, it was probably a rare jewel or a family heirloom he swiped without telling them.

Kenny peers around him, perhaps deftly searching for any prying ears. Satisfied with his current company, he digs the object in question out of his pack and holds it up for the five of them to see. It appears heavy, a solid rectangle with three prongs, curling inward. They glint with the light of the fire, a beautiful gleaming indigo. Kenny grins wide, displaying his treasure with pride.

“Woah,” Clyde breathes.

“Where’d you find that, Ken?” Butters eyes the object carefully.

“Remember that inn at Ivarstead?” Kenny says. “I gave the guy at the counter a journal I found, and he just gave this to me. Pretty sweet, huh?”

“Yeah, holy shit.” Stan runs a hand through his hair, watching the artifact in Kenny’s hands. “What does it do?”

“Haven’t you seen one before? It’s one of those cool dragon claws.” Kenny examines it again, turning it upside down to examine it. “It opens one of those puzzle doors somewhere, we just gotta find out where. There’s probably some super awesome treasure down there!”

“No.” Kyle announces, sliding his spellbook back into his bag. “Kenny, we are not going on some hairbrained treasure hunt with that thing. Dragon claws open Nordic crypts, and I have had enough of those for one lifetime.”

“Aw, come on, Kyle! We have plenty of defense, and we’ve got nothing else better to do!” Kenny stands up from his spot in the dirt, and holds the claw out. “Why not go find some treasure? What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Uh, hello? We could die??” Kyle makes a broad gesture. “And there might not be anything down there, anyway. We would go all that way and waste all that time for nothing.”

“Or,” Clyde chirps. “There could be a buttload of treasure and hot babes down there, and we could go all that way for something. Eh?” he grins wide, and Kyle shakes his head.

“No. Nope. My mind's made up, we are not taking that risk.”

“But, but. Hot babes?”

“Shut up, Clyde.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is based heavily on the skyrim/south park crossover au ive got going here: southrimcomic.tumblr.com and theres still a lot more to go after this but thanks for reading!


	2. Cut Deep

Approximately two days later, the group relocates to Whiterun, taking up temporary residence in one of the two inns. Kyle and Butters had much preferred The Bannered Mare, but Stan insists that the people passing through The Drunken Huntsman have much more interesting stories. Kenny and Clyde agree, and Craig vehemently refuses to vote after Kyle insists he has to, so the majority wins out and they request three available rooms.

On occasion, an inn won’t have three rooms available for the night. It may be only two, and the group splits up into threes instead of pairs. This may also be the case if they find themselves particularly short on coins, and Kyle employs this strategy to save money. They’ve split into groups of three on more than one instance, and have found a more effective way to split up and to protect against ambushes. Stan, Craig and Clyde in one space, and Kenny, Butters and Kyle in another. That way, two somewhat experienced fighters are paired together, along with - in this case - a pack mule. Very rarely, however, only one room at an inn would be open for rent. This would leave the group to split into threes again, but in different circumstances. The three not taking the room at the inn would have to search for another place to stay, such as a local resident’s spare room or somebody’s attic or barn. The trio taking this responsibility was always Stan, Clyde, and Kenny. Each of them were more suited for hospitality, and convincing somebody to allow them space in their home. Most of the time, that would involve offering a favor or some kind of chore to be done in return in place of money, and by this point they had done it all. Laundry, chopping wood, feeding animals, cleaning up after animals, babysitting, harvesting crops, convoluted revenge schemes, etcetera. As long as they could be offered a warm place to sleep for the night, there was almost nothing off the table. Not counting anything sexual or illegal, or sometimes both. Clyde mentioned being up to something of that caliber, but Stan stopped that one thankfully quickly.

Lucky for them, however, The Drunken Huntsman had three rooms in stock, and Kyle returns to the remaining five after negotiating with the innkeeper at the front counter.

“We taking regular rooms this time?” he wonders, holding out the three keys to the others. Kyle is, of course, referring to their average sleeping arrangements. Craig and Clyde in one, Kenny and Butters together, and Kyle and Stan in the last one. The rest of the group looks around, considers it, and nods collectively.

“Yep,” Kenny quips, swiping a key and leading Butters off to the corresponding door. Clyde steps forward and assumes the second key.

“C’mon, Craig.” he continues to the hallway, and Craig follows with a muttered ‘don’t tell me what to do’.

Kyle closes his gloved fingers around the last key and gives Stan a look- saying ‘i guess it’s just us’. Stan shrugs and returns his look, a kind of ‘dude, when is it never not us?’ Nevertheless, he follows Kyle to the last remaining room, the one upstairs beside Kenny and Butters, and across the hall from Clyde and Craig. Kyle closes the door, and Stan drops his bag on the ground beside the bed.

“I can take the floor,” Stan considers the wooden planks beneath him, and doesn’t sound very sure of his offer at all. “It’s fine.”

“Stan, for the millionth time, you don’t have to. We can just split the bed.” Kyle laughs, and slips his bag from his shoulder onto the floor. It hits the wood with a solid ‘thump’. Stan shifts uncomfortably where he stands.

“I know, but. Remember last time you said that?” He gestures widely with his hands, and Kyle’s smile fades. He remembers the last time.

“Okay, yeah,” Kyle concedes, and pulls at his bangs. “But what about your back, dude? Doesn’t it get messed up whenever you sleep on the floor?” he makes a general motion in Stan’s direction, and he sighs.

“Well, yeah. But it’s messed up anyway, so.”

“So, what? You’d rather mess it up even more?”

“No, but-”

“That’s pretty much the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, Stan.” Kyle heads toward the door, and Stan stands helplessly where the conversation had ended.

That evening finds the majority of the group in the lobby of the inn, around a similar glittering fire and some other patrons going about their own business. Craig and Clyde appear to be missing, probably still in their room, while the remaining four unwind by the smoking coals. Butters and Kenny are on the floor again, but Butters leans his head up against Kenny’s shoulder and they wind their arms around one another. Kyle decides against rehearsing his spells indoors, opting instead for a non-instructional book on healing spells; their history in Tamriel, how long they had been used for, and what common things had been thought of them before they were made common in Skyrim. He finds it somewhat fascinating, and when Stan leans over to less-than-subtly read over his shoulder, he is quickly deterred by large words and dry topics. Butters takes his head off of Kenny’s shoulder for a moment, and turns to watch the two behind him.

“Say, Kyle,” he wonders. Kyle hums in response. “Are we headin’ out tomorrow? Or can we stay here another day? My feet are awful sore.” Kyle ponders the request momentarily, closing his book. Stan looks at it as if it had betrayed him.

“I’m not sure, Butters. I guess it depends on if we can get any work in the city or not.” Kyle resumes his reading, and now it’s Kenny who turns to give him a look.

“Work? Nah, we don’t need that. We could just go look for that, uh. Claw-door-thing?” He directs a scaly elbow in Kyle’s direction, and the mage peers down with the utmost disappointment scribbled across his face.

“Kenny, I said no. We’re not looking for the stupid door.” Kyle leans in and lowers his voice, to avoid prying ears. “It’s dangerous, not to mention a waste of our time.”

“You just said we weren’t busy!” Kenny protests, only slightly louder. “We’ve totally got time, and besides. It’s not like we haven’t done shit that was just as dangerous.”

“We could at least find out what crypt the claw goes with, Kyle,” Stan offers before Kyle can argue forward. “So we know how far away it is, and everything.” Kyle gives Stan a glare similar to the one his book received not too long ago, and despite his advantage in size and strength, Stan shrinks under Kyle’s definitive gaze. The mage stands and shoves his book under his arm, turning briefly back to the other three.

“Both of you, come with me. Right now.”  Kyle demands, stomping off to the hallway. Stan and Kenny share a look, and Kenny rolls his eyes. They follow anyway, with Butters in tow although his presence hadn’t been exactly requested.

Kyle herds the three of them into his and Stan’s shared room, and is sure to lock the door as soon as it closes. He drops his book onto the nightstand, and faces his companions with a deep, deep scowl.

“How stupid are you two? Really.” Kyle crosses his arms tightly over his chest, and Kenny locks his jaw while Stan stares at the floorboards he planned to sleep on that night. “You’re carrying with you the one and only key to one specific door, and you choose a crowded inn to talk about it. A room full of rogue warriors and treasure hunters who would give anything for that key, and the only thing standing between it and them is your body.” He scolds darkly, and Kenny’s eyes snap up to meet his.

“So, what?” he hisses. “That’s why I’m saying, we take the key and go get the treasure before anyone else can steal it out from under our noses!” Kenny wasn’t exactly concerned about his own life, considering how easy it would be to get it back. Of course, Kyle didn’t have to know that.

“It wouldn’t be that hard, Kyle. Why are you so pissed off?” Stan casts him an odd look, a raised eyebrow.

“I’m pissed off, Stan, because nobody’s listening to me!” Kyle says, loudly. “It’s a stupid, pointless, dangerous treasure hunt that might get us all killed! Remember our last trip through a crypt?” He reminds them, and Stan’s eyes sink guiltily down to the floor again. “You both could have died! We can’t risk ourselves for some dull ancient sword, or some chest of useless shit!”

“We don’t have to,” Kenny exhales. “But I want to. I found the claw, I can ask around where the door is, and I can find that chest of useless shit by myself.”

“Ken, no!” Butters cries from behind him. “I’m not lettin’ you go by yourself!”

“If you want to come with me, you’re welcome to.” Kenny turns to him sweetly. “But if Kyle wants to be a party pooper, then we can just keep all of that useless shit for ourselves.”

“I’m not being a party pooper! I’m trying to keep you alive, you moron!” Kyle shouts, just about pounding his boot against the ground. Stan steps over to place a soothing hand on his arm, and it is promptly shaken off.

“Well, maybe you should stop trying.” Kenny says.

Kyle is taken aback, and Stan stares in abject horror. Nobody's quite sure of what to say for several seconds. Kenny shifts his weight to his other foot, and crosses his arms more firmly over his chest. Tension flows between the two of them, him and Kyle, as they continue to maintain careful eye contact. A particular kind of silence washes over the scene, the kind of silence injected into the pivotal point of a conversation. As soon as something takes a wrong turn, or shit hits the fan, it’ll be there to steer the entire thing the absolute wrong way and make everybody regret talking about this topic in particular. Of course, that silence is shattered when Butters steps out in front of Kenny, shielding him in a way from Kyle’s fury.

“Alright, hold on now! Everyone just, just take a breath, alright?” he cries, his ears lay flat against his head. “Please. We can sort this out, can’t we, fellas?”

“What is there to sort out.” Kyle’s words drip with grim malice, and his eyes never leave Kenny’s. “It’s all very clear. Kenny wants to leave, and we’re going to let him.” Stan turns to Kyle now, still visibly shocked.

“We are?” he asks. Kyle nods, stiffly.

“Yes, we are.”

“Good.” Kenny’s arms weave tighter across his chest.

“Fine.” Kyle stares on. “Great!”

“Fantastic!”

“Exceptional!”

Kenny says nothing else. He narrows his eyes, and sharply turns away from the remaining three. They watch him head toward the door, footsteps hard against the wooden floor. Stan doesn’t feel very much like sleeping on it anymore- he never did.

“Kenny,” Kyle warns, and he stops short of the door. “If you walk out that door right now, you had damn well better not come back.”

Kenny pauses, hand reached for the knob. He takes a deep, deep breath. In, out. Closes his eyes, wilts only slightly. Chews at his lower lip, and his hand drops to his side with a heavy sigh. Kyle, Stan and Butters watch him anxiously, awaiting a crucial response. He turns to Kyle, suddenly, head held high and a dark element in his gaze.

“That’s fine with me.” he says, and promptly heads out the door. It swings on its hinges, and although it does not slam closed, Stan winces anyway.

Butters makes a difficult noise under his breath. He rushes past Stan and Kyle, for the door. He goes yelling down the hallway, and the two left hear the hushed discussion from the room next door. Kyle sighs, pulls his fingers through his bangs, and scrubs his face with his hands. Stan is not sure what he should do, if anything.

The room is heavier after that. Kyle takes a heavy seat at the edge of the bed, breathing deep. Candles flicker against the walls, light swaying sporadically in an unseen breeze while they wind down, and words settle in their hearts. Stan does not move to touch Kyle, or to sit next to him, but casts him a sympathetic glance. He believed Kenny did the right thing by leaving, by following his own will instead of that of the group, but telling that to Kyle would achieve nothing. Except for, maybe, his own ass getting kicked out. And he wasn’t entirely willing to risk that.

Stan stopped to think for a moment. Was he, actually? Even if it was a chest of useless shit like Kyle predicted, the adventure could be worth it. Sure, he would have loved to go along with all six of them, but if Kyle was so adamant about not going for it, then clearly there would be a split. And wasn’t that why Stan joined the Companions in the first place? Why he took the oaths, kept the vows? To go on adventures and awesome hunting trips with good friends, and to share stories of their travels with other good friends. He wasn’t too keen on staying tied down to one specific job, and began to rethink his hired mercenary position. Stan leaned heavily toward following Kenny and Butters out that door.

Kyle sighs again, and Stan rips his eyes from the door to cast him another considerable glance. He is torn, absolutely torn, and he knew it.

“Kyle.” he attempts, and the mage doesn’t look at him.

“It’s fine.” Kyle keeps his eyes to the floor, shakes his head. “We’ll be fine. They’ll leave, they’ll find some bullshit treasure, and that’s the last we see of them.”

“It won’t be like that.” Stan gives in and takes a seat beside Kyle, deciding to place a hand at his back, between his shoulders. “They won’t go, I think.”

“Kenny was a thief for thirteen years before we met him, Stan.” Kyle gives him that look; his attempts at comforting are either not working or not appreciated. Or, both. “He has the key to a Nordic puzzle door that could make him one of the richest men in Skyrim. Why, in the name of Julianos, would he pass that up?” The words are sadder to hear than he’d expected, and Stan nods. Tough decisions had never been Stan’s forte, but. At that moment, he feels like going with Kenny wouldn’t be betraying Kyle after all. Sure, they could find a chest of useless shit, but he wouldn’t be in it for that. Kenny and Butters could keep all the useless shit they wanted. Stan thought maybe, he would find the chest, then find his place back at Kyle’s side. Maybe that would be enough to quench his wandering spirit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its getting pretty intense here but theres still more to go! and im not totally a writer by trade but its easier this way than drawing the whole thing out yknow


	3. Sliced and Split

“Hey, you guys okay in here?” Clyde peeps his head in through the doorway, and Kenny and Butters look up. They’re standing in the middle of the room, Kenny still with his arms crossed and Butters with his palms together, pleadingly. Clyde feels as though he’s interrupting something important.

“Yeah, we’re okay.” Kenny nods, but that doesn’t mean shit.

“You’re lyin’ again, mister.” Butters scolds him, and Clyde is very convinced he’s barged in. “We are not okay!”

“What do you want me to say, Butters?” Kenny throws his hands up in frustration, turning away. “I’m leaving tonight, and that’s the end of it! I said you could come with me if you wanted!”

“But I don’t!” Butters covers his face with his paws. “I mean I do, I do! I would just, feel awful leavin’ everyone else here!”

“Alright,” Clyde walks into the room and gently closes the door behind him. “What’s going on?”

Kenny exchanges a look with Butters, and pulls a hand over his snout.

“I’m going to find that door.” He says. “I’m leaving tonight, and I’m not coming back.”

“What?” The shock over Clyde’s face is replaced by pure, concentrated concern. “What, no! You have to come back!”

“Kyle told him he couldn’t,” Butters shakes his head, as if blaming the entire situation on the mage in the next room. That wouldn’t exactly be an inaccurate assumption, either. “if he leaves tonight. He’s gotta stay out.”

“That’s why you should come with me, Buttercup.” Kenny turns to him now, and takes his shoulders firmly. “If I gotta leave, I don’t want to do it alone.”

Slowly, Butters places a paw over Kenny’s hand, and looks down at it. Sentiment wells up in his heart, and very gradually, tears prickle at his eyes. He gives Kenny the most indecisive look he possibly can.

“I don’t know, I don’t know if I can.” His voice falls to a low whisper, and Kenny looks down before he nods. He leans in, and presses a gentle kiss to the fur over Butters’ forehead.

“Just think about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

Clyde says nothing, offers a simple supportive smile, and withdraws from the room. The door clicks shut softly, and he turns to leave. He bumps into a solid weight behind him, and yelps when he realizes what it was.

“Gods, Craig!” Clyde shouts, recovering quickly. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Craig says. “What happened.”

“With what?” Clyde passes him on his way into their shared bedroom, and Craig follows.

“In there, with all the yelling.”

“Oh, that.”

“Yeah, that. The fuck is happening.” Craig bumps the door closed with his narrow hip, and Clyde makes a face, indecisive.

“Kenny’s leaving, I guess.” Clyde folds his hands together. “And Butters is going with him. They’re gonna go look for the door and all the claw stuff.”

“Clyde, what the fuck.”

“What?”

Craig glares at him, and crosses the room swiftly, like a predator. He does not break eye contact, and suddenly Clyde is a lot less comfortable in his own skin. They maintain their distance, however, and he is reminded of their first meeting. Craig’s daggers were a lot sharper back then, the deep red dyes of his armor much brighter. Clyde wasn’t nearly as good at the lute then as he had become, and he thanked his lucky stars every day that Craig decided not to kill him after all. Right then, of course, he begins to think Craig had changed his mind.

“Why didn’t you go with them.” Craig demands, shoulders tight.

“Uh,” Clyde pauses. “Because? I was gonna stay here with you guys?”

“You damn idiot. You could have gone with them, helped them find the door, and murdered those assholes so you could take everything for us.” He gets close to raising his voice, but remains quiet, as if someone were to hear them. “What’s wrong with you.”

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you!” Clyde stares hard at his taller companion, absolutely dumbfounded. “They’re our friends! Craig, that’s awful.”

“They’re your friends, maybe.” Craig crosses his arms over his chest, scoffing derisively. “That’s not the way I roll, Clyde. I thought you knew that. They have us trapped here for no good reason.”

“Trapped, yeah right.” Clyde rolls his eyes, runs a hand through his bangs. “You could have left at any given time in the last six months, what does that say about you?”

“That I’d rather stick around and steal their money while they’re asleep.” He narrows his eyes. “That doesn’t mean shit.”

“Face it, Craig. You’ve warmed up to these guys, and so have I.” Clyde fixes him with a knowing look, and an implying headbob. Craig’s eyes are dangerous now.

“Shut the fuck up, Clyde.” he growls through grit teeth. “If you won’t go for the free treasure, then I will.”

Craig goes for his bag, strung across the back of a nearby chair, and digs through it. It’s Clyde’s bag, in actuality, and he watches helplessly while Craig removes a modest pile of coins and shoves them into his side pocket. He goes for the door, and Clyde feels a guilty weight at his stomach.

“Craig,” he calls, and the assassin stops short of the door. “Please don’t do this. Don’t kill anyone. If our friendship ever meant anything to you, you won’t do this.”

He doesn’t say anything in response. He stands in the middle of the room, coin burning a hole in his pocket, offer forming an uncomfortable weight in his heart. Craig gives Clyde a slow, careful look over his shoulder. Clyde wrings his hands hopefully, watching his every move. Promptly, Craig goes for the door, and Clyde lets his hands drop to his sides when it slams loudly and the sound of his failure echoes throughout the room.

//

Whiterun glows in a somber light by the time members of the party steal away from the Drunken Huntsmen, packs on their shoulders and get-rich-quick schemes in their heads. The plan is solid, it seems, and is being put into action. Two sets of footsteps could be heard outside of the inn, and Kenny holds the door open as Butters steps out as quietly as he can. They pause, listening to make sure they aren’t being followed, and continue down the minimal wooden steps to the main street.

“ _Okay, so._ ” Kenny whispers to his companion. “ _You got the map?_ ”

“Check.” Butters says aloud, wincing when Kenny shushes him wildly. “ _I mean, check._ ” He corrects himself, stumbling.

“ _Extra food, extra healing potions?_ ”

“ _Yes sir._ ”

“ _And I’ve got the claw._ ” Kenny thumbs behind him, presumably toward his backpack. “ _Looks like we’re all-_ ”

“Wait, you guys!” The heavy inn door comes swinging open, and Kenny and Butters turn fast at the disruption. Stan runs from the doorway into the street, bag across his shoulder, greatsword strapped to his back. The door slams shut again, and all three of them wince as the noise explodes into the night. Kenny sends Stan a venomous glare as he approaches.

“ _What do you want?_ ” he hisses. “ _Are you trying to get us caught?_ ”

“ _Give him a chance, Ken,_ ” Butters sticks a paw out to Kenny, in an effort to calm him. " _He could help us._ "

“ _Yeah, I actually wanna go with you guys._ ” Stan catches onto the whispering bit and offers a bright smile. Kenny cocks his head disbelievingly. “ _I feel bad about leaving Kyle, but. I haven’t been on a quest like this since I left the Companions.”_

“ _Are you sure? I mean, won’t Kyle be super pissed that you’re leaving him behind? I thought you guys had some deal, or whatever._ ” Kenny points back to the building, to which Stan gives a noncommittal shrug.

“ _He’ll be fine._ ” Stan says. “ _It’s not like he really needs me in the first place. Now c’mon, let’s get out of here!_ ”

The three of them take off down the road, careful to keep their steps light as they move. They continue to the main doors of town, down the drawbridge, and out of Whiterun. They are conscious of their decision to leave the rest of the group behind, and although they may come to regret it, they decide it’s best to keep moving. The door and that chest of useless shit are within reach, it seems, and they have no intention of looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which everyone leaves and doesnt stop to think about how absolutely po'd kyles gonna be when he wakes up


	4. Fire and Ice

Clyde lays in bed after the first few waking seconds, staring at the wooden beams in the ceiling. He isn’t quite sure of when he fell asleep that night, but the room is plenty emptier than usual. After deciding against going after Craig, he thinks, was when he sat down and passed out against the furs covering the rickety bedframe. Soon after his revelation comes another one; Craig is gone.

The bed shifts uneasily as Clyde sits up, and glances around the room, then down onto the floor. Craig is gone, alright. He didn’t storm out and come back while Clyde was asleep like last time, he really is truly absent. Of course, Clyde remembers, he could just be sitting in the lounge by the fire. It was unlike Craig to leave the room before he had to, but it was not unlike him to stay up all night and never sleep. So it was entirely possible that he was simply away from the room, or getting a drink at the bar. Clyde held that hope close to his heart, although he knew his effort was futile. It was almost as if-

“Son of a bitch!”

Clyde’s attention is drawn nearly immediately to the door, as he hears a loud thump and a jarring slam from the other side of the thin wood. It’s Kyle’s shrill voice through the planks, and it doesn’t take Clyde long to figure out what he’s been screaming at.

The door swings open almost violently, hitting the adjacent wall with an intrusive _whump_. Kyle is standing in the doorway, face scrunched up into an expression Clyde could only describe as pure, unabashed rage. He grips the furs around him tighter by instinct.

“Clyde.” Kyle grinds out. “Where in Oblivion is everyone.”

“Uh,” Clyde responds, with utmost sincerity. “Gone?”

“Obviously!” He is loud again, and Clyde winces at his volume. “I mean, where did they go?”

Before Clyde has a chance to reply, Kyle’s light eyebrows shoot up and his eyes are alight with realization. Two seconds later, they contain nothing but fury.

“No. Don’t tell me.” He commands, as if Clyde intended to. “They all ran off to look for the stupid door.”

“Uh?”

“By the Gods, Clyde!” Kyle throws his fists down, and Clyde jumps off of the bed. “How could you let this happen?!”

“Me?!” he yells incredulously. “I didn’t!”

“Then why is half of our party missing??” A dark smoke rises from Kyle’s gloved hands as he steps further into the room, and Clyde backs up into the side table. “I know Kenny and Butters went for that horseshit door, but that doesn’t explain why Stan is gone, too.”

“I don’t know!” Clyde cries, tempted to shield his face when Kyle’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Craig went too!”

Clyde’s admission of this fact was almost akin to a child telling a parent on their older sibling, in hopes of getting them in more trouble than the original child. Kyle was far too angry to see that, and a small flame rose up past his fingers as his rage slowly grew out of control.

“Great!” He turns, and waves his arms manically. “Fantastic! I told them, they should have listened to me! Nordic puzzle doors cause nothing but trouble, and they’re going to kill themselves over a fruitless search!!”

Clyde opens his mouth to say something when Kyle goes quiet, and immediately clams up when a renewed surge of fury goes shooting through the room. Flames flare up in Kyle’s hands, shooting high up to the ceiling and washing the room over in a pale orange glow. Clyde grabs the nearest object - a backpack from the chair - and holds it in front of his body to shield himself from the sparks igniting various spots on the floor.

“Traitors!” Kyle cries, flame exploding higher into the room. The ground seems to shake with the power of his anger, and Clyde is understandably close to tears. Embers find their way to the floorboards, and a dark char forms on the beams in the ceiling. Kyle’s god-like rage leaves a stark impression on the inn patrons and staff downstairs. Their group definitely won’t be welcome back for some time following their leave.

//

Some time during the night, it had begun to rain. Mud soaked into the boots of the three that had defected as they made their way down the path, and the plains surrounding them grew misty with fog as morning dawned. Hues of golds and violets strung across the sky as the sun rose, and were then hidden with clouds as the trees grew denser across the skyline. They weren’t certain of the location of the crypt, but Kenny had planned to contact the same innkeeper who passed the claw onto him in the first place. Butters offered an endless stream of moral support, and Stan meant only to fight off the most dangerous of evil in their path. They are accompanied by another set of footsteps, much lighter and further away than their own.

“Did you hear that?” Stan murmurs through the mist, turning on the path and stopping in his muddy tracks. Kenny and Butters pause in front of him, sharing a curious look. A rustling in the bushes nearby causes them to follow Stan’s gaze off the path.

“I don’t hear nothin’,” Butters says, distractedly scratching behind his ear. “It could just be a little critter in the woods.”

“I think it’s bigger than a critter.” Stan places a hand instinctively on the hilt of his sword, eyes stuck on the leaves that long since stopped moving.

“I’ll be damned if we’re being followed,” Kenny shakes his head. “We didn’t tell anyone about this thing, they shouldn’t know.”

“Maybe we should keep moving!” Backing up to stand beside Kenny, Butters tries to diffuse the tension. “I’ll bet it’s just a fox.”

Stan takes another look around the wooded area, heading back to the group. His hand leaves his sword and falls cautiously to his side, and he struggles to pull his wary gaze from the spot it’d been fixed on. He sighs, turning, and continues with the other two. The source of the noise creeps along the road quieter than it had before, determined to keep along as close as it could.

The mist makes travel a bit more difficult, and Kenny pulls up his hood to shield his scales from the remainder of the cold. Prongs from the claw poke through the thin burlap of his bag, reminding him why they broke trust and set out along this trail in the first place. An uncomfortable feeling settles in his stomach, one Kenny is very familiar with. One he hates having to feel, and can’t help but feel it. Vex’s words come floating back to him in the haze.

 

_“You can’t keep doing this to us,” she poked a filed fingernail hard into his chest. “We have lives to! Dragging us on these long-winded trips is tearing us apart!”_

_“Hold your horses, babe,” Kenny chides, the drawstring bags of coin in his pocket becoming heavier. “One more should do it. Then you and I can finally leave this dump.”_

_“What about Rune, and Vipir?” Her tone tightens. “They deserve a way out, too. You know they do.”_

_“They got their way out when they went soft on us.”_

_“Going soft? You mean, saving their own lives before you could ruin them?”_

_“Don’t throw that in my face!” Kenny whirls around, staring hard. “I didn’t mean for that to happen!”_

_“Yeah? I don’t care what you meant, it still happened!” Vex cries through grit teeth. “You weren’t the one who had to tell Marik’s brother he was dead!”_

_“Look,” He sighs. “I told Marik he didn’t have to follow us. The place was full of traps, he had time to escape! It wasn’t my fault!”_

_“Sure it wasn’t.” She lets her arms drop to her sides. “But you can’t escape the fact that we’ve sacrificed innocent men so you could line your pockets.”_

_“Not just my pockets,” Kenny says, bitterly. “Don’t forget about those diamond necklaces you ‘borrowed’.” Her expression twists into something of guilt, and quickly disappears._

_“Whatever.” She bites. “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted you.”_

_“We all make mistakes.”_

 

“Kenny?” Stan’s voice brings him from his memories, and he turns to acknowledge the other man. “I asked what your plan was.”

“Oh.” He nods. “Right. Still got that map, Buttercup?”

“Aye-aye, captain!” Butters reaches back to pull the map from their bag, starched paper crinkling in his hands as he passes it over. Kenny takes it gratefully, unrolling it to peer at the fine lines.

“I was thinking we circle back to Ivarstead, to ask that innkeeper what he knows about this thing. I got it so long ago, I can’t remember what he said about it.” Kenny points to the icon marking the town’s location, shrugging.

“What do we do about the Throat?” Stan reaches between them, finger landing on the mountain drawn in between Whiterun and Ivarstead. The Throat of the World, the tallest mountain in Skyrim, was all that stood in their way; Literally.

“I think we should head south around it.” Kenny draws an invisible path with his claw downward. “That way, we can stop and rest in Riverwood if we have to.”

“Sounds good to me!” Butters chirps, grinning. “We’ll have that treasure in no time!”

“I still feel awful about leaving Kyle, but. This should only take us a few days, right?” Stan wonders. “He’ll hardly notice we’re gone.”

“We did kind of leave him with Craig and Clyde, though.” Kenny says. “Just imagine the shit he’s going through with those two.”

“Poor Kyle, right?” Stan snorts, and Kenny and Butters giggle mischievously. The shape in the bushes self consciously curls inward, but does nothing to give away its presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which kyle is pissed off (because nobody saw that coming right) and kenny has an emotional crisis


	5. Running the Show

Kyle and Clyde stand on the steps of the Drunken Huntsman, shouldering their bags and excess materials left behind. Kyle’s eyes still glow with lingering flames, and he stomps away from the door to head down the street. The sun’s begun to rise where they are, houses and buildings silhouetted dark against the brightening sky. The mist covers quite a bit of the surrounding region, not as heavy within the city walls. Clyde scrambles after Kyle, tripping and stumbling over the last few steps in his haste.

“Kyle, hey,” Clyde grunts, bumping into the shorter man as he collects himself. “You’re not gonna, like, go after those guys? Right?”

“Of course I’m going after them, Clyde.” Kyle glares, brushing dust from his shoulder. “Kenny and Butters can keep on all they want, but I need answers from Stan.”

“And we should probably find Craig, too?”

“Sure.”

Turning from the Drunken Huntsman, the two remaining of the group cross in front of the armory and push through the city gates. Nodding to the guard outside, they make their way out of Whiterun. By then, fog collected in the plains had mostly dissipated, sunlight breaking through the thin clouds. The increased load upon Clyde’s shoulders begins to feel heavier, along with the uncomfortable silence between him and Kyle. Normally, someone like Stan or Kenny is there to say something and start a conversation, or they’ll take turns telling stories and trading theories. Now, left with the two of them, Clyde doesn’t know how to steer the topic to something Kyle would be interested in. He’s not sure if they’ve ever exactly positively interacted one-on-one before. Now is as good of a time to start as any, right?

“So,” Clyde begins, hesitantly, watching Kyle for signs of reaction. “How are you?”

“Excellent conversation starter.” Kyle states, harshly. “I’m still pissed off. That should be obvious.”

Clyde nods, feeling things come to a screeching halt. Literally, a halt, as Kyle stops walking to examine a bush of budding flowers outside of the meadery. He stoops down to peer closer at the little blue flowers, and carefully selects some to pluck from their stems and place in the pouch at his hip.

“Why’re you picking flowers?” Clyde wonders, leaning to watch over Kyle’s shoulder. He deflates, slightly, as he stands.

“These are for alchemy.” Kyle says, continuing on the path.

“Oh, potion stuff! Yeah, Craig was really good at that.” Clyde grins, adjusting the straps digging into his shoulders. Kyle turns abruptly with a strange look on his face.

“Really? You mean our Craig, right?” He gestures vaguely upward. “The tall one with the attitude problem?”

“The one and only. He made all kinds of stuff. I guess it was a Brotherhood thing, that you learn potions?” Clyde shrugs, beaming proudly. “He’s got this little journal he keeps in our bag full of recipes and stuff like that.”

“Oh, really?” Kyle’s eyes drift toward one of the many bags dangling from Clyde’s back. “Mind if I take a peek?”

“Well, see, I’m not supposed to look at it. I don’t know if Craig would be okay with that…”

“Clyde, he’s not here. He won’t know.”

“He’s pretty observant.”

“Oh, fine.” Kyle huffs. “Keep them to yourself. It’s probably all types of poisons, anyway.”

“Actually? You’d be surprised.” Clyde nods. “He does poisons, sure, but there was this one. He wouldn’t let me see when he made any. It’s what keeps him up at night.”

“What?” Kyle makes the strange face again. “I thought that was just some weird nightmare thing. Are you sure Craig isn’t just abusing skooma?”

“No, I’m sure.” Clyde laughs. “I’d know if it was skooma. But no, it has something to do with mushrooms. That’s all I know.” He thinks back to his and Craig’s adventures in the past. Every time they’d pass through a wooded region, Craig would insist on going through the thickest trees in the area. When they passed any mushrooms, Craig would harvest any they found meticulously, forcing Clyde to carry everything in the backpack. Mushrooms, feathers, most flowers. Only the purple ones, strangely enough.

Kyle hums thoughtfully. That could be a big enough clue to figure out what Craig’s onto, with this. Kyle knows enough about alchemy to put the pieces together, if he had some samples to work with. Unfortunately, the constraints of traveling lightly meant he didn’t have much space for any ingredients to work with. The pouch at his side limited him to the essentials; healing and larger magicka capacities. A few glass bottles - some empty, some full - were strung along the sides, but that was all. Stan couldn’t carry much of his things either, on account of primary defenses being a larger issue. Kyle’s love of arcane science was sadly hindered by being a part of this traveling circus he watched over from time to time. A circus which, if left split apart, may be separated for good.

“Clyde,” He says, pointedly. “Did they take our map?”

Clyde pauses, and opens his mouth to respond. He then shuts it, opens it, and closes it. Reaching backward, he fishes through the multiple bags at his back to locate the darker olive burlap - the one that’s supposed to contain the map. He finds nothing, and looks at Kyle hopelessly. Kyle pinches at the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath.

“It’s not the end of the world. We could just buy one somewhere.”

Clyde nods, and digs in his own backpack for the leftover coins he carries. He stops, blanches, and realizes Craig took them. The entire stack, shoved into his side pocket before left.

“Craig took my money.” Clyde murmurs, slinging the backpack over his shoulder again. Kyle lets out a very frustrated noise.

“I don’t even know if it’s worth finding these assholes anymore!” Kyle cries, throwing his fists down. “They want to risk their lives for stupid treasure? Fine! Let them! I hope they’re attacked by wraiths and storm atronachs!” He runs a hand through the frizz of his bangs, letting his arm fall loosely back to his side. Clyde waits, perhaps a safe period of time, before tentatively placing a comforting hand on Kyle’s shoulder. It takes him longer to shake it off, but he moves away from the contact, crossing his arms.

“You don’t mean that, do you?”

“No, I don’t. I’m just frustrated. I mean, we don’t even know if they went this way or not.” Kyle motions lazily to the road behind them, leading beyond Whiterun’s walls. They’ve already passed the meadery, and the town is still visible nearby.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Clyde wiggles an eyebrow, and stoops down to pick something up from the ground. He holds it in front of Kyle, and sure enough, that’s a clue if he’s ever seen one. A tuft of blond fur, strands stuck together in a thick tangle.

“That looks like…” Kyle squints at the clump. “Butters? Is that his fur?”

“I think so.” Clyde nods. “And look, there’s some back there! I think they went this way.”

Kyle leans over to look past Clyde’s broad shoulder, and another little blond tuft sits just a few yards away on the road. From there, the road leading beyond the hill is dotted with telltale clumps.

“Good work, Clyde,” Kyle claps him on the shoulder, and jogs a little further up the hill. Clyde follows, hastily, bags and buckles knocking around behind him. “Now we can track down the rest of our traitor friends.”

“Hopefully, we’ll find them unhurt. Right?”

“However we find them, I’m not waiting more than two minutes until I start yelling.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have you ever talked to your mom about something and shes just so mad and passive aggressive that youre a little bit afraid? like when you put your plate in the sink instead of the dishwasher and she stands there angrily loading dishes in like 'i guess im the ONLY ONE who knows how to do this in this house. just me. i have to do EVERYTHING for this family' ? because thats basically what just happened


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i havent written anything for this fic in a long time im sorry if some of the details got a little scrambled- but heres the next part! things are actually starting to happen so thats pretty cool. and we find out who bushes mcrustly is so stay tuned for that (and thank you guys for reading and leaving comments i actually REALLY appreciate it! i dont write that often so its really refreshing to know people like it when i do this stuff too)

Evening comes when the sun dips into the line of mountains framing the defected group, as they pass another crypt. From Whiterun, it had taken all of their time and focus to walk that far, and the days only seem to get longer. The seriousness of what they’ve done and what it means for their bonds only then starts to hit them, while the sheer impracticality of traveling by themselves also wears deep. The food they’ve packed is running scarce, and they worry about having to hunt anything for fear of leaving tracks.

“Ken,” Butters whines, effectively breaking the terse silence in the group. “Are you sure we can’t hunt anything to eat?”

“I’m sure.” Kenny says.

It was maybe the second or third time Butters had asked that day, and he was beginning to feel weaker with every pang of hunger. He was used to going unspecified amounts of time without eating, but now that he’d settled into a healthier rhythm, it was difficult to break out of it. Even more difficult, he noticed, now that their spirits had dropped down and the excitement of leaving the established group was wearing off. 

“Kenny, it would be smart of us to find something to eat.” Stan advises from behind both of them. His tone doesn’t suggest an argument.

“I know, okay?” Kenny bites back over his shoulder. “Look, if you two want to hunt something down, do it. But if someone tracks us from the carcass don’t come crying to me.”

“Now you listen here.” 

Kenny stops in his tracks when Butters speaks. The world settles thickly around them both. Butters is staring at him, paws curled into fists at his sides.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Kenny, but I am sick an’ tired of it. Y’all wanna go find treasure, I’d be sure excited to come along. But not if you keep actin’ like this.” He says, stiffly. “Actin’ like this ain’t a team effort is what you’re doing. And it doesn’t make me feel good about leavin’, not one bit. So, so you shape up your attitude, or I’m goin’ right back to that group without you.”

He lost momentum partway through, but Butters’ words still stand as tough as they are. Feet planted firmly on the stones he stands on, his eyes never leave Kenny’s. 

“He’s right.” Stan announces. “I don’t feel good about leaving Kyle, either. And it only gets worse when I know you would rather hunt for treasure than food.”

“Why did you leave Kyle, anyway?” Kenny asks, suddenly defensive. It was one thing for Butters to be upset, but Stan isn’t one to talk. “I thought you were supposed to be his guard dog.”

“We both know Kyle can defend himself just fine. I get tired of hitting our usual spots and I thought this was a good direction to take the group.” Stan has his arms crossed over his chestplate, watching Kenny firmly. “Kyle didn’t want to go, and that was fine. I intended to go back after this, anyways.”

“Right. Like he would just let you come back.” 

“What does that mean?”

“It means you betrayed him! We all did!” Kenny turns back to the trail and continues walking, away from them both. “I think out of everyone here, you would understand that.”

Stan narrows his eyes, grits his teeth, but says nothing in response. He’s pretty sure by this point he’s made a mistake. A very big, glaring, irredeemable mistake that he’s going to have to deal with later. The feeling settles deep in his stomach, scratches at his insides, but he’s determined to keep it down. Butters gives Stan a sympathetic look and not much else, walking after Kenny. Stan follows suit, and so does the shape in the bushes nearby.

Within only a few minutes, the sun had dipped down so low behind the mountains that the small group figures they should settle down for the night. Kenny advises against a fire, and they sit close together by a small stream running through the trees. The peace of the day has disappeared, leaving only traces in the leaves and brush all around. Stan feels the uncomfortable weight of the night bear down on him, and tightens the strap of his sword against his chest. Butters settles up by Kenny’s shoulder, holding him close, wishing the intensity of their expedition would fall away soon. The third time somebody’s stomach growls, Stan makes an uncomfortable sound and stands up.

“I’m going to find food.” He says, drawing his sword from its sheath behind his back.

“Maybe I should come with,” Butters says. “Night vision, and all?”

“You stay here. Both of you stay.” Stan looks between the two of them, and turns to head into the brush. He realized quickly that if he and Butters left, Kenny may escape with the claw. It’s very far off and biased though, he knows that much, but with those startling new behavior changes he was quite sure anything was possible. 

Stalking quietly into the bushes, Stan swivels his way around the sticking branches and sticks and keeps his eyes open wide for any movement besides his own. The plains of Whiterun are known for wildlife, something Stan is entirely familiar with, having grown up close enough to it. The hilt of his sword is heavy in his hands. He takes one away to brush hair out of his eyes, replacing it quickly. 

Shaking leaves to his right catch his attention. Stan turns to the disturbance, holding his sword out in front of him. His heart pounds in his chest. Experience or not the anxiety of the hunt has always ramped up the same way, ever since he was young. He readies himself for something to fly out of the brush, snap its jaws at his face, maybe scratch at him. He’ll be ready when that moment comes. If that moment ever comes.

It doesn’t. A knife plunges into the loose fabric of his pants, right into his thigh, and Stan reels in pain before swinging his sword at the brush. The attacker had gotten away by that point, and now slides an arm around his throat. Attached to that arm was a hand, and in that hand was a dagger stained with Stan’s blood. He sees only the tip as the rest is pressed to his jaw. 

“Stay calm.” A voice says, close to the upper left of his head. 

“Craig?”

“Shut up.” The blade presses insistently into his skin. Craig’s other hand is fisted into Stan’s hair, holding him back. “Drop your blade.”

“Let me go. This is ridiculous.”

Stan hisses as the sting in his neck spreads through the rest of his body. Blood beads up from the cut and dribbles down onto the collar of his chestplate.

“You get one more chance. Drop it.” Craig’s tone is calm beside his head, an indication that he means nothing but business. Stan releases his sword from his grip, unable to see it fall heavily into the dirt below. The blade  _ clangs  _ loudly against a stone, and once the ringing subsides, Craig pulls his blade away from Stan’s throat. Some part of him knew Craig would never kill him, although, he was unsure now how true that was.

“What do you want? How did you even find us?” Stan reaches up to rub at the cut when Craig releases his hair. 

“You thought I was a fox.” Craig wipes his blade off on the furry sleeve of Stan’s armor. “Clearly I wasn’t.”

“Yeah, clearly.”

“I’m going with you.” 

Stan startles at his announcement, but Craig is only looking down at his dagger as he places it gently back into the cover at his hip.

“Does Kyle know?”

“At this point? Probably.”

Stan stoops down to pick up his sword again, sliding it back where it belongs. He touches at the bloody cut again, reaching back to wipe his hand on Craig’s arm. Craig slaps his hand away roughly. 

“Did Clyde say anything about you abandoning him?” Stan asks, turning back to walk toward the stream. He doesn’t mean for the question to come out as venomous as it does.

“About as much as  _ Kyle  _ said about you abandoning  _ him _ .” 

“So, nothing?”

Craig narrows his eyes in thought.

“No. Clyde said stuff about it.”

“Huh. Kyle didn’t know I was going to leave.”

Craig gives Stan a little raise of the eyebrows, eyes wide. His look makes Stan regret more than leaving.

“Good luck with that.” The pat on Stan’s back shoves him forward slightly, and he wonders really how difficult it would be to come back to Kyle. Maybe he should turn back now. Maybe he should tell Kenny they’re all going back. Unsure of what to do, he simply follows Craig back to the stream, working out little details in his head of how Kyle might react.

He would be very angry, Stan knew that. But he might also look very hurt. He might cry. Stan wasn’t sure if he was prepared to handle that kind of reaction from Kyle. Only having seen him cry once before, and for good reason, he was thinking this was going to be the hardest task he’s ever had to undergo. Leaving wasn’t easy, sure, but coming back would be even worse.

“Craig?!” Kenny’s voice cuts Stan free from his thoughts. “What are you doing here?”

“Nevermind that.” Craig says, sitting down across from the two of them. Stan takes a seat nearby. “I’m going with you.”

“Oh, no, you are not.” Kenny stares him down evenly. “We already took Stan in when we didn’t expect to. We are not splitting this thing four ways.”

“It’s not about the stupid money.” Craig lies. “Clyde is suffocating me and I hate Kyle. I wanted out.” That part isn’t as dishonest.

“You don’t hate Kyle. Who could hate Kyle?” Butters says sadly. 

“I could. He’s overbearing and loud and has kicked my ass far too many times.” 

“To be fair, you ruined his one chance at redemption.” Stan shrugs from beside Craig. He’s met with a tame glare, but not much else. “I think he had a right to kick your ass some of the time.”

“My point is I’m coming with you.”

Kenny settles uncomfortably next to Butters, still unsure of how to handle this. He believed Craig; the guy didn’t take very kindly to friendship or anything close to a protective leader like Kyle. It wasn’t entirely out of the question that he just wanted to be let loose, too. Butters takes his hand and squeezes it, giving him an earnest look. It says something like  _ do whatever you feel is right and I’ll support you _ , and Kenny is thankful for it.

“Fine.” He says, finally. “You’re coming with us. But don’t expect a cut of anything we find.”

“Whatever.” 

 


End file.
